Strange, my Mac says it’s 8:43, the clocks here in New Orleans say it’s 10:40, and this diaryland entry form says it’s 9:19:10? whassup widat?
Report from Jazz Fest:
4/28
Drove to Fest with convertible top up.
Large unsweetened rosemint tea
Beignets
Soft-shell crab po’boy
B) Mrs. Wheat’s crawfish pie that turns out to be a meat pie by mistake
Bonerama trombone band
Wild Magnolias (“meet the boys on the battlefront/the Wild Magnolias gonna stomp some rump”)
Native American exhibits in th grandstand, Brazilian band playing a cha-cha (everyone dancing), decided against oysters on the half shell, sat in the a.c. for a while cooling off while Ernie Andrews was interviewed about growing up in Philadelphia with Charlie Mingus and Dexter Gordon but he wasn’t really talking into the mic, so we went to Economy Hall and heard the end of Dr. Jaz from New Zealand (playing “Saints” of course).
B) Lemonade (too sweet)
B) Crawfish pie (tart style, lots of crawfish but gummy dough)
No popcorn shrimp again!!
Fried turkey po’boy (so so)
Gatemouth Brown at the Ray Ban (Acura) stage, OK but not will mic’d and very hot – the usual fat/frat/cigar scene (though thankfully the cigar fad seems to have peaked last year), so we went back to Economy Hall and caught the end of
Lionel Ferbos and the Palm Court Jazz Band (hokay)
Small unsweetened mandarin orange tea
B) Small unsweetened rosemint tea
Dukes of Dixieland with hilarious loud self-gossipper and her confiterix, their shrill voices interlacing with the clarinet and trombone, all about how her boyfriend won’t divorce his invalid wife
Henry Butler on the Fox stage, we lounging in the shade. Not Snook Eaglin on guitar but someone pretty good playing a blues/rock fusion: Something You Got (which I know from James Booker but not sure who wrote it), then a tune with the line from Goodnight Irene ’bout “six months ain’t no sentence/one year ain’t no time/they got boy down there in Angola/doin’ one year to 99”
Why do old guys not lock the portolet doors so they say occupied? remoinds us of Steve two nights ago laughing about Grandpa Simpson saying “this elevator only goes to the basement and someone made an awful mess down there!” Henry Butler does Voodoo Man from his new record… then something I don’t recognize, then Tipitina.
We go to the Jazz Tent and get seats for Chick Corea and Gary Burton. I go looking for Steve and Elizabeth and don’t find them but do come back with a
Shrimp/oyster (half and half) po’boy instead (so so, nothing compared with the soft-shell crab). Corea plays
Love Castle (from the ’70s, plucking the strings in the piano at first)
Native Sense (? can’t read my handwriting, from their last duet record)
Monk’s Dream
Sophisticated Lady (Ellington)
No Mystery (originally for piano and marimba, also ’70s)
Budd Powell
audience gives them a standing O
encore: Armando’s Rhumba
impossible to top that, we decide to duck out early (after one more rosemint tea each – I have mine honey-sweetened this time) to the strains of the Allman brothers.